


Bodyguard

by Illumithoti



Category: Fear Clinic (Web Series), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack Relationships, F/M, doomed romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22657684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illumithoti/pseuds/Illumithoti
Summary: Reclusive psychiatrist Bedelia Du Maurier hires a certain parolee as personal security. Due to their opposing natures, they get along like fire and ice, all the while trying to chip away at each other's neuroses and generally annoy each other.
Relationships: Bedelia Du Maurier/Villatoro
Kudos: 2





	1. The Recluse and the Brute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tranimation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tranimation/gifts).



Pt. I: The Recluse and the Brute

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

For tranimation for putting up with my plot bunnies.

Doctor Bedelia Du Maurier did not expect anyone would take up the job offer she’d posted. The details were vague enough that questions would be inevitable. The man who sat before her now did not exactly give off a good first impression.

He was big. He looked like he might have been a linebacker in his younger days. Tattoos of varying technique and style covered the man’s arms, attempting to hide what were clearly burn scars. The worst of them were at his around his neck. A part of her wondered the story behind them.  
  
_All in good time,_ she thought.

“Mr. Villatoro, correct?”

“Yes ma'am.”

Bedelia looked him over, wrinkling her nose slightly. His clothes were not exactly appropriate for what surmounted to a job interview. A faded, opened button-down t-shirt with what was clearly a wifebeater underneath, jeans that were beginning to wear a bit in the knees and simple workmen’s boots.

“Have you done anything akin to personal security?”

“I was an orderly at a rather…” Villatoro flashed a bitter grin that went no deeper than his teeth. “Unorthodox establishment, I suppose. Basically amounted to trying to save five people from themselves.”

“And did you?”

“That was on _them._ Had nothing to do with me. After that clusterfuck, excuse my language, I moved on to the Baltimore Penitentiary for the Criminally Insane. Head shrink there was spooked somebody had it out for him. And if you read the papers, well…”

Du Maurier raised an eyebrow and continued.

“I try to avoid the media. Nothing but trouble. After your work for Dr. Chilton, what then?”

“Helped my cousin out at an estate for a bit. Easy enough, paid well. Basic private security stuff. Didn’t last long. Owner of the place rubbed me the wrong way. After that, grabbed whatever odd jobs I could. And here I am.”

She smirked, easily disguising a shrug in a movement of making to push her hair from her face.

“I suppose you’ll do,” she said, rising from her seat and extending her hand. He shook her lightly, as though he was aware of his own strength and knew when and where to limit it. “You're welcome to pick whatever vacant room you choose. Kitchen is adjacent to the room we are standing in, you’re welcome to whatever you wish.”

“Sweetheart, I’m content with a paycheck and a roof over my head.”

Bedelia spun on her heel and turned to face him, meeting his eyes.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear. We are _not_ on intimate terms. This relationship is strictly professional and will remain so. Understood?”

There was a playful, teasing look to the man’s eyes that she already found exasperating.

“Whatever you say, Doc.”


	2. Chapter 2

Pt. II: Close Quarters

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (Webseries)

It had been nearly a week since Bedelia had hired Villatoro as a bodyguard. They kept to themselves, easy enough to do in a house this size. Villatoro had cleaned up a storage room enough to store what little clothing he owned. To Bedelia’s trained eye, the man couldn’t be more her opposite. While she hid away from the world, he seemed to be running from it.

“What the hell is this?” Du Maurier demanded, looking at the pair of takeout containers on the kitchen counter.

“Lunch,” Villatoro said, poking through a third container with a pair of chopsticks. “Chow mein?”

“I am not eating that.”

“Oh, excuse me, Your Highness, but the peasantry isn’t exactly used to this five-star gourmet crap. I’m a simple man, thank you very much.”

Bedelia shook her head.

“I’m seeing a patient this afternoon,” she said. “I want you close, but unseen. Can you manage?”

Villatoro chuckled, stacking the empty containers inside each other and throwing them in the trash.

“I’m surprisingly quiet for my size. You won’t hear a peep out of me. I thought you didn’t see patients anymore?”

Bedelia poured herself a glass of wine, hoping the man couldn’t tell her hands were shaking.

“Just one. He’s a former colleague of mine. I owe him. He was the only one who understood my…trauma after my attack.”

Villatoro raised an eyebrow.

“You were attacked?”

“By a patient, yes. I was forced to lash out in self-defense.”

The giant man nodded, mulling her words over.

“Explains the whole…gilded cage thing,” he said. “I know a guy who’d love to pick your trauma apart. He’s done it with everyone else.”

A small smirk crept across her face.

“Does that include you?” she inquired.

“Fuck no. Once shit went south, I was gone. I was only in it for the money anyway.”

Bedelia sipped her wine in thought, looking him over. He might have been handsome if it weren’t for–

“Is that how you got burned?”

She smiled to herself when she saw something in Villatoro’s eyes change.

“You said we’re keeping this strictly professional and the last thing I plan on doing is giving you ammo for some Freudian psycho-analytic bullshit,” he said.

 _Touched a nerve_ , she thought.

“Freudian psychology hasn’t been used in decades, Villatoro,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You know what I mean!”

For all his incessant teasing, he was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. Well deserved, in her mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Pt. III: Digging Deeper

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

Hannibal was many things. At the moment, Bedelia found him exasperating. She was thankful he’d gone, heading into the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of wine.

“Well…Pretty Boy seems…interesting.”

Bedelia jumped, splashing a few drops of wine onto the counter. Villatoro had stepped out of the shadows and into the kitchen, leaning his muscular frame against the doorway, one foot crossed behind the other casually.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were surprisingly quiet,” Bedelia said. She poured a second glass and handed it to him. The man took it and sniffed it, making a face.

“Did Hannibal see you?” she asked, amused by the look on Villatoro’s face as he downed the glass of wine, coughing.

“ _No–hack–_ but I see why you drink now… Fuck me, I’ll still with tequila.”

Bedelia shook her head. Boorish, uncultured brute…

“You’re supposed to savor it, Villatoro, not chug it.”

It was then that she realized something.

“Villatoro,” she said, setting down her glass, “in the week we’ve been working together, I’ve come to realize I still don’t know your first name.”

He regained his composure, drawing himself up to his full height.

“As we agreed, Princess, no intimate terms. For the one who instigated that rule, you sure do keep chipping away at it.”

Du Maurier smirked in return, meeting his gaze with equal coolness.

“And yet, you keep on going with your pet names.”

She had him there.

“Just the way I talk, Doc, can’t really help it. Besides, I think you secretly _like_ it.”

_God, he’s infuriating._

“We’ll have to go shopping for groceries soon,” she said, dreading the idea. “If I supply you with a list, would you be willing to go?”

Villatoro mulled the question over for a moment.

“You and I come from very different worlds, I’m content with frozen waffles and gas station burritos, I can’t even pronounce the stuff you eat.”

Bedelia finished off her wine with an exasperated flourish.

“Very well. Someone has to teach you about proper culture. We’ll go tomorrow.”

Villatoro, as was customary when she gave a decree like this, bowed sarcastically in reply before retreating to his room. Bedelia was sure she heard him mutter “pretentious bitch” under his breath but chose to ignore it. Tomorrow’s shopping excursion was going to be interesting.


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV: Into the Abyss

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (Webseries)

“Why are we grocery shopping at 9:30 at night?”

Bedelia pursued the shelves, taking down a few packages of pasta and setting them in the basket Villatoro was holding.

“Avoiding the crowds. It’s basically just us here,” she said.

“Yeah, us and few wine snobs,” Villatoro grumbled. “What the fuck is this?” he continued, taking the frozen item Bedelia was about to put in the basket.

“Escargot.”

“Escar– _what?”_

She sighed shaking her head.

“Snails,” she said simply, walking over to the next aisle. “Surely you’ve eaten those.”

Villatoro caught up with her, having snuck a few wine samples.

“Yeah, when I was a dumbass 4 year old.”

Bedelia smirked.

“Oh good, then you should still find them palatable.”

She took one of the wine samples from him, raised it in a toast and sipped it. Villatoro stared at her for a moment.

“Walked right fucking into that one.”

“Language, Villatoro, we’re in public.”

_“There’s no one here!”_

She headed to the checkout line, making the purchases, Villatoro following behind her like a kicked dog. After the groceries had been loaded into the car, Bedelia slipped into the passanger seat. She didn’t like driving at night, and Villatoro seemed to prefer it.

Back home, Bedelia made herself a proper meal with the fresh supplies. Villatoro himself was content with a bowl of cereal.

“Can you cook?” she inquired, looking up from her food.

The tattooed giant shrugged.

“The basics. Like I said, I’m a simple man. You can have your snails, I’ll have my corn flakes.”

Bedelia chuckled, sipping her glass of wine.

“Is your family like that?”

Villatoro went quiet, poking at his makeshift dinner in sudden disinterest before rising from his seat.

“G'night, Doc.”


	5. Chapter 5

Part V: Scars

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (Webseries)

When it came to living under one roof, compromises had to be made. Bedelia was determined to inject some culture into Villatoro’s life come hell or high water and he was equally persistent on getting her to loosen up. They finally agreed to try a different restaurant that the other favored once a month. In the past three months, this had led to arguments, debates on what qualified as “food” and at least once incident of food poisoning.

Tonight had been different. The establishment Bedelia had chosen, while sophisticated, had food Villatoro was actually willing to eat. In his words, steak was steak.

They got into the car, Villatoro in the driver’s seat, as was to be expected now. Bedelia didn’t mind. The man knew byways and backroads she would never dream of navigating, least of all alone.

“You clean up nicely when you choose to,” she said, smiling at him.

“I didn’t _choose_ too, Princess, you _forced_ me,” Villatoro replied, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the collar of the dress shirt she’d bought him. “I hate suits. I hate collared shirts. They’re suffocating. And _itchy_.”

Bedelia chuckled. She let her mind wander, only jerking back to reality as Villatoro growled under his breath, adjusting the rear view mirror.

“Fucking asshole’s been on my tail for the past mile…”

Du Maurier turned back to see a black car, clearly high-end, following them. She could see silhouettes of three men. A sudden stab of paranoia struck her. The sooner they got home, the better.

“Pull over, let them pass,” she said. Villatoro did so and the other car did the same. The men existed and Villatoro inhaled deeply. He made a gesture for her to get down and she complied, quickly ducking into the backseat, pressing herself to the floor.

“Ah shit…” he muttered. Bedelia pulled her coat tighter around herself as Villatoro rolled down the driver’s side window, the men all gathered around his side of the car.

“Vinny, Marco, Armand… how’s it going?”

“Give back what you stole, Villatoro,” said the man closest to the car. “Mason Verger is not happy.”

“His sister paid me what I was owed for the 6 months I worked for him.”

“Margot has no access to any funds controlled by the Verger estate and you know it,” the second man continued. “There’s no way she could have paid you.”

“Well, regardless, I don’t have the money. Blew it all on booze and hookers.”

Bedelia couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not and felt a sudden stab of annoyance at the thought. She jumped at the sound of Villatoro grunting in pain. One of the men had slammed his face into the steering wheel before dragging him out of the car. She was tempted to slip into the driver’s seat and make a getaway. Whatever debt Villatoro had gotten himself into, she wanted no part in it. The sounds of struggling outside were amplfied by the door behind her opening and Bedelia felt a hand grab her ankle.

“Oooho, how much did you cost him, gorgeous?” the man asked, smirking. Bedelia instinctively kicked him hard in the knee, knocking him off balance. She rose from her hiding place only to watch Villatoro slam one man’s head into the hood of the car. Within minutes, he’d snapped the arm of the man who grabbed her before rounding on the third. Bedelia looked away, wincing at a painful cracking sound. She only looked up when she heard Villatoro’s voice.

“You all right?”

He clearly was not. His left eye was already swollen shut, several cuts to his face. He had a hand pressed to his side, blood leaking between his fingers.

“Mind…driving the rest of the way? I don’t…I don’t feel too hot,” he continued.

Bedelia moved on pure instinct, helping him into the passenger seat.

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” she said as she moved into the driver’s seat.

“Hell no. No hospital. Just… let’s go home.”

Bedelia had never driven so fast in her life. She helped Villatoro inside, easing him onto the couch before running to get the first aid kit she kept in the linen closet. In pure professional mode now, she hastily unbuttoned his shirt and carefully pulled it away from the wound in his side. One of those thugs had stabbed him.

“Does it hurt to breathe?” she asked.

“No,” he answered. “Massive fucking headache though.”

Bedelia worked methodically, stitching up the wound and getting it bandaged before attending to the rest of his injuries. He was too quiet and, for once, she didn’t like it.

“Talk to me, Villatoro. Need to know you’re still with me.”

“While back, you asked about the burns,” he said in a pained, exhausted tone. “I was 10. Old house, faulty wiring, instant tinder box. My parents, my brother… I was the only one who got out alive. Most days, I wish I didn’t.”

She was surprised by his openness. Usually he’d brush off any questions with a sarcastic remark or simply ignore her entirely. She supposed it was his way of thanking her for helping him.


	6. Chapter 6

Part VI: Professionalism

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (Webseries)

Bedelia breathed a sigh of relief when Villatoro finally awoke. She’d barely slept the following night, between the adrenaline and need to be certain Villatoro would indeed wake up at all.

“Ugh, fuck, my head…” he grumbled. “Where is my shirt and why am I covered in blood?” He flinched and put a hand to his injured side. “Ah, right… You all right, Doc?”

Bedelia tightened her robe around herself, sighing.

“Ice, aspirin, tea,” she said, pointing to the three items on the counter. “If you feel up to it, I suggest a shower and a change of clothes. That bandage will need to be changed too.”

Villatoro merely shrugged, popping a few tablets of aspirin into his mouth before taking a sip of tea.

“You got any coffee?”

“You need to rest,” Bedelia replied. “Consider it a day off.”

Villatoro raised an eyebrow, lightly placing the bag of ice against his black eye.

“Didn’t have to patch me up,” he said, sitting back down on the couch. “I’ve had worse things than a poke in the ribs.”

Bedelia chuckled, shaking her head as she sat next to him.

“And let you bleed all over the interior of my car? Not a chance. It was the concussion that was more concerning anyway.”

“Well…thanks, I guess,” Villatoro muttered.

She nodded, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course. You’re of no use to me dead.” She looked up at him before continuing. “Who were those men?”

He sighed, running his hand over his face.

“Enforcers belonging to my previous employer. The one I said rubbed me the wrong way. I _might’ve_ stolen a couple hundred before I left. My cousin must have ratted me out. Fucking Carlo…”

Bedelia leaned back, sighing.

“They won’t go after you, babe, don’t worry,” Villatoro added, smirking. “Hell, I doubt they’ll be getting up at all.”

“Killing them seems extreme,” Du Maurier said. It was self-defense at the least...

“Well, I _was_ just gonna take the beating,” Villatoro explained with a shrug. “But then Marco found you and I just…saw red. Besides, might as well earn my keep, right?”

Bedelia sat up, playing it off as a sudden shiver. Villatoro himself had gone quiet, staring into his tea cup. He noticed her looking at him and smirked.

“See anything you like, Your Highness, or just browsing?”

Bedelia huffed in frustration. Even injured, he could still tease and annoy her to no end. Without thinking, an extreme rarity for her, she pressed her lips against his. The man made a surprised noise, finally caught off guard. She was pleased with herself, only to moan softly as he returned the kiss in a sort of confused need, as though it was something he wasn’t used to. It was only when she felt cold air against her now bare shoulders that she pulled away.

“So…what was that about no intimate terms?” he asked, looking disappointed as Bedelia pulled her robe back up over her shoulders.

“Shut up.”

Spontaneity was unlike her. She saw to it that her every move was pre-planned, every word carefully chosen. Now she wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. While she was exhausted, she was almost afraid to sleep now, not wanting to think about what sort of dreams would come.

It took a lot to get under her skin and Villatoro was _good_ at it. As she walked to her room, she realized she _wanted_ to argue with him, to let his teasing and flirts get to her. Villatoro had been right.

She did secretly enjoy it.


	7. Chapter 7

Part VII: Dive

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

In the weeks following Villatoro’s injury, Bedelia refused to set foot out of the house. Her hired protector had healed quickly despite his age and his temper had been prone to flaring lately.

“Look, Your Highness, you might be happy to rot in this house but I’m gonna fucking lose it if I don’t get some real socialization,” he said, tugging on his coat.

His words stung ever so slightly, like a superficial cut that had just been noticed. Bedelia was surprised that it even hurt at all.

“And where exactly are you going?” she inquired, crossing her arms. He growled and shook his head.

“Why would you care?”

“As your employer, your personal safety is directly tied with mine. I’d rather not have to stitch you up again,” she replied simply.

Villatoro huffed in annoyance.

“Just a bar. Meeting a friend from my old orderly job. Either grab your coat or down another bottle of red, Princess. I’m not waiting.”

Bedelia, not wanting to leave but not wanting to fight with him in this foul mood, grabbed her coat and followed him. She made for the passenger seat of her own car when he stopped her.

“Nuh uh. My truck. Your car will be stolen within half an hour if we take it.”

Bedeila made a face as she almost had to jump into the passenger seat of Villatoro’s beat up old pickup. The interior was stained and faded and one of the dials on the radio was missing. Beaten up and shouldn’t even be running by all appearances. Much like, she realized suddenly, like the man who drove it.

The drive itself was in complete silence, save for when Villatoro would curse out a driver in front of them for either the lack of proper road etiquette or general stupidity. His mood seemed to lift somewhat when they made it to their destination. The bar had sketchiness carved into it’s very foundation. Bedelia didn’t like the look of the place at all, wrinkling her nose at the sharp scent of cigarette smoke. Villatoro himself crossed the room to the bar where a large man in medical scrubs sat and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Sorry I’m late,” Villatoro said, taking the seat next to the man while Bedeila took the seat beside him.

“Where the hell have you been, V? You missed Mike Jones get thrown out the window last week,” the man replied. He looked past Villatoro and made eye contact with Bedelia, a confused smile slowly spreading across his face. “Whoa, since when does a mangy bastard like you find an angel?”

“Shut up, Barney,” Villatoro growled into his beer bottle. Bedelia fought to keep from smiling. He was _blushing_.

“Bedelia Du Maurier,” she said. “I hired Mr. Villatoro to assist me.”

Barney laughed, still looking between the two of them.

“Just don’t sit there, V, buy the lady a _drink.”_

Villatoro sighed and flagged down the bartender. Bedelia wasn’t a beer drinker but the wine served was too cheap for her liking. She knew she’d nurse the bottle for the remainder of their stay. Despite the less than pleasing aesthetics, it proved to be a fascinating location to people watch. Besides listening in on Villatoro and Barney’s conversations (something about Frederick Chilton and that atrocious redheaded reporter woman), a few men played pool and others were engrossed in the sports game playing on the wall mounted television.

Half her beer was gone by the time a woman dressed in a skirt far too short and a top far too small roughly brushed past her to cozy up to Villatoro as he lined up a shot at the pool table. She flirted brazenly with him, touching his shoulder.

Bedelia suddenly felt a stab of anger and rose from her seat, shrugging off her jacket. She approached the trio, finishing off her beer.

“Do you mind if I try?” she asked, moving so that the scantily-clad woman was forced to move out of her way.

 _That’s right,_ she thought. _Away with you, Little Miss Daddy Issues._

Her dominance assured, she suddenly realized she didn’t know why she had just done that. Thankfully, Villatoro didn’t seem to notice her inner turmoil and handed her the pool cue.

“You ever play?” he inquired. She shook her head and he chuckled. “Okay, let’s just focus on getting you to hit the ball and not break a nail.”

She had half a mind to poke him in his injured side with the cue for that. Barney set up the balls in a beginners run, and Villatoro moved behind her to help her get into position. He guided her aim and helped her make the shot but she was distracted by how _close_ he was. She quickly ducked out from under him and made an excuse about wanting to get away from the cigarette smoke. She stepped outside, furious with herself.

First that damn–

_(Moment of weakness)_

–kiss and now…

“You forgot your coat, Doc,” Villatoro said, handing it to her. She took it without looking at him and headed to the truck. He followed, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You lasted longer among us peasants than I thought you would, Your Highness, I’m impressed.”

His mood seemed far better now than it had when they arrived. Now it was her turn to sulk, she supposed.

“Well, that was fun,” Villatoro said once they pulled into the driveway. He turned to her, looking slightly concerned. “You all right, Doc?”

Bedelia snapped out of her thoughts and nodded.

“Mm, yes, I’m fine. I…think that beer went to my head.”

Villatoro nodded. It was clear by his expression that he didn’t believe her.

“In all fairness, my side’s starting to ache. I’m gonna take some painkillers and hit hay.”

Bedelia merely nodded, walking past him and into the house. She made it to her room and shut the door, both thankful and disappointed at the thought of sleeping alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Part VIII: Conversation

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

The morning following their adventure had been a quiet one. Villatoro had said little beside his customary morning greeting and Bedelia had said even less. She took the box of cornflakes from him and made herself a bowl, sitting on the couch instead of the dining room table.

“That beer must have _really_ gone to your head,” he teased, sipping his coffee. “So, you wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” she said, picking at her cereal. He chuckled as he circled around before taking a seat in an armchair directly across from her.

“I may be a lot of things, Princess,” he replied, leaning forward, “but I’m not an idiot.”

Bedelia pursed her lips in thought. She wanted to slap that teasing smirk off his face. Infuriating, boorish son of a…

“I said there is _nothing to discuss_ , Villatoro.”

The cold venom in her voice was enough to make him know better than to speak. He merely shrugged and finished off his breakfast.

“You and I don’t exactly see eye to eye on that, Doc,” he said, placing his dishes in the sink. “But by all means, keep being a ball of repression disguised by a pretty face.”

Bedelia rose from her seat, walking up to him without hesitation.

“For someone who hates–what did you call it, ‘psycho-analytic bullshit’– you don’t seem to have an issue with using it on me.”

He looked down at her, his gaze as equally cold.

“And for someone who wanted, no, _demanded_ no intimate terms, you just keep pushing. What was your deal with that girl at the bar last night? You looked ready to rip her apar–”

He was cut off as she suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. Bedelia moaned softly as he moved forward into it, pushing her backward against the counter. Finally, they pulled away for air. She was supporting herself against the counter with her hands while Villatoro flashed that damn smirk of his.

“There we go,” he said. “Much more…dominant than last time.”

Bedelia sighed, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“This is…incredibly unprofessional,” she said. Villatoro laughed.

“Babe, do I look like someone who gives a fuck about professionalism?”

She wanted nothing more than to lock herself in her room again. She knew she couldn’t hide from the man forever. Desire was a new feeling for her. Physical intimacy was something she never thought about. Something lesser than herself.

“If you want me to leave, Doc, say the word,” Villatoro said. “I’ll be out of here within an hour.”

Bedelia came back to herself, looking up at him.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t want you to leave.”

He nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You need me, you know where to find me.”

Bedelia groaned after he left the room.

 _You have no idea,_ she thought.


	9. Chapter 9

Part XI: Outside Influence

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

Bedelia thought it strange to be out and not have Villatoro at her side. The man had to get his truck looked at and was in less than a pleasant mood. In any case, Barney had insisted that she come alone.

Barney spotted her from his seat at the coffee shop and waved her over. Bedelia found him charming, if not somewhat manic. The orderly grinned as she draped her coat over the back of a chair beside him.

“I’m happy we can talk and not have V breathing down our necks,” he said, sipping his drink.

“How exactly did you get my number?” Du Maurier inquired, sitting down.

“Stole V’s phone when he went to the restroom the night we met.”

Bedelia chuckled, surprised as Barney pulled out his phone and held it out in front of him.

“Hang on, this is for posterity,” he said, snapping a selfie of the pair of them. The orderly tapped away at his phone happily for a moment. “Aaaand _send!”_

Bedelia knew exactly who he’d sent that photo to.

“What’d he say?” she asked, nibbling at the croissant he’d bought her.

Barney smirked, playing with his phone again.

“I think he likes it,” he said, showing her a message bubble containing several knife emojis. “So, how long has he been working for you?”

“Several months now,” Bedelia replied. “I’ve tried to ask him about himself. He either has some sarcastic reply or dodges the question altogether.”

Barney made a gesture that was something between a nod and a shrug.

“I worked with V for good while. Man keeps his cards close to his chest. He’s not very trusting.”

She seemed to have earned a little of Villatoro’s trust. He had told her how he’d gotten burned. Whether it was the truth or him just rambling in pain, she didn’t know.

“This is going to sound strange, Barney, but do you happen to know Villatoro’s first name?” she asked.

“You know…I _don’t_ ,” the orderly said after a moment. “I only really ever saw his employee file once and it was for like 30 seconds. All I know is he’d done some time in pris…on…” he stopped, realizing he said too much. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Bedelia shook her head.

“I figured as much. Several of his tattoos are clearly indicate it. But it was the way he eats that was the biggest giveaway. Like he thinks someone’s going to steal his food.”

“Oh man, one time, I tried stealing a french fry off his tray,” said Barney with a laugh. “He stabbed me in the hand with a fork.”

 _That **does** sound like something he would do_, Bedelia thought.

“Are you two…together or…?”

Bedelia felt the color rise to her face and hated herself for it.

“No. It’s strictly…professional,” she said.

Barney raised an eyebrow at her. He shook his head, chuckling.

“Oh honey, don’t _lie_. You’ve clearly got the hots for him. Which is really, _really_ funny to me. Don’t think V hasn’t had a woman he hasn’t paid for.”

Bedelia sighed, taking a sip of her drink in an attempt to disguise her exasperation.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Barney replied quickly. “Look, you wanna get through to him? Be dominant. Assertive. It’s his kryptonite, trust me.”

Looking back, that already seemed to be the case. Both times they kissed, she’d been the one to take the instigate it. Villatoro never made a move or an attempt to kiss her on his own volition. Perhaps he didn’t want her. They were too different, something Villatoro had to be constantly been reminded of.

“I’ll talk to him later today,” Bedelia said, rising from her seat. “It was good talking to you, Barney.”

Barney nodded, chuckling.

“You too, Doc. If the big guy does something stupid, lemme know, I’ll kick his ass for ya.”


	10. Chapter 10

Part X: Turning Point

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

Bedelia awoke to the smell off coffee and maple syrup. She sat up, finding herself still on the sofa and wrapped in a blanket, where she’d spent the previous night. A pleasurable ache shot through her body as she got her bearings, looking around. Villatoro, wearing nothing but a wifebeater and his boxer shorts, lightly nudged the coffee table back into it’s proper position before setting down a cup of coffee and a plate of pancakes down in front her.

“You…made breakfast?” she asked, grabbing his discarded shirt off the floor and putting it on.

“Kinda burnt myself out on cereal,” Villatoro said with a shrug. “And, uh…thanks for the ride last night.”

He flashed that damn smirk of his and she nearly choked on her bite of food. They’d spent a good portion of the previous night talking and finally one thing led to another and here they were. She’d enjoyed it, though the whole thing was a bit of a blur.

“It’s Pietro, by the way,” Villatoro continued through a mouthful of pancake. Bedeila was jerked out of her thoughts and looked up at him.

“What?”

“My first name is Pietro.”

“You don’t look like a Pietro,” she said, smiling a little. “More like a Victor or a Jason.”

Villatoro shook his head.

“Why do you think I go by my last name?”

Bedelia chuckled, finishing off her meal.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said. “Thank you for breakfast.”

Villatoro shrugged and when he turned around to head back to the kitchen, Bedelia noticed the claw marks along his back and shoulders. Pleased with this revelation, she rose and went to the bathroom to shower. Her hips were bruised slightly, though it wasn’t painful. First time and they’d already left their marks on each other. The warm shower helped clear her head and she stepped out, now properly dressed. When she walked into the living room, Villatoro wasn’t there. The kitchen had been cleaned, the dishes rinsed and placed in the dishwasher. She should know better than to expect Villatoro playing nice. Though, it could be assumed a night of physical intimacy would break down a barrier or two. It was enough that he finally told her his first name at least. She amused herself by leafing through the morning’s newspaper, surprised to find that he'd had beaten her to the crossword. Bastard.

She had a session with Hannibal today. The man’s obsession with Will Graham was exasperating. Villatoro, who kept himself well hidden, despised the man. Bedelia was wary herself, knowing how manipulative Lecter could be when he chose.

“You’ve got a meeting with Pretty Boy, right?” Villatoro asked, now dressed in his casual attire.

“Hannibal, yes,” Bedelia corrected. “You know the drill for it by now.”

Villatoro nodded, a growl escaping the back of his throat. She felt that pleasurable ache shoot down her spine at the sound of it.

“Man’s a snake, I don’t trust him. Just…be careful, all right?”

Villatoro stepped forward, looking at her in a way he hadn’t before. It was genuine concern. He moved closer, only to step back as though confused.

“I’ll…go hide, I guess. Give me the signal when he’s gone.”

Bedelia nodded, not wanting him to leave. She steeled herself in preparation for her appointment, thankful it would only be an hour. There was too much on her mind to put up with Hannibal today.


	11. Chapter 11

Part XI: Q & A

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (Webseries)

She wasn’t surprised their most recent argument had led to sex. In fact, she half expected that outcome now. Bedelia found herself lying her head against Villatoro’s chest as he leaned back on the sofa, trying to catch his breath.

“See? What’d…I tell you, Princess?” he inquired with a smile. “That repression’s gonna kill ya.”

Bedelia nipped at the scars along his neck in retaliation, causing him to tense up.

“Don’t test me,” she said, pulling him into a kiss only to shove him away. She rose, grabbing her blouse off the floor and putting it back on. Villatoro merely zipped up his jeans and clinched his belt. “You’re getting a raise, by the way.”

She finished redressing, stopping by a mirror to fix her hair. Villatoro stood, swaying on his feet for a moment before chugging down a glass of water.

“Trust me, Doc, you and I both know that is _exactly_ what just happened.”

“Don’t be crude, Pietro.”

“Hey, you were the one riding me like it was ladies’ night at the Kentucky Derby.”

She wrinkled her nose at his metaphor. Now once again presentable, she got herself a drink, watching the rain through the window. Of course they’d been at each other lately, they hadn’t left the house in weeks.

“What did you do to get on parole?” she asked suddenly. “When I met with Barney a few weeks ago, he mentioned you’d done time. That and your eating habits are a bit of a giveaway.”

Villatoro shrugged, pulling a hooded sweatshirt over his head before speaking.

“Tax evasion.”

She blinked at him, unsure of his answer.

“Are…are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

She merely sipped her water and shook her head.

“I was expecting something more…you,” she said.

“Drug running with the Mexican cartels,” he offered, now rummaging through one of the cabinets.

“Not quite.”

“Debatable ownership of a brothel.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” she asked, reaching to take the container of uncooked chow mein noodles away from him. “And _stop_ eating those.”

“Once killed a man with my bare hands,” Villatoro said, holding the container above his head and out of her reach.

“Now _that_ sounds like you,” Bedelia said, elbowing him in the side and forcing him to drop the container. She put it back in the cupboard, proud of herself. He narrowed his eyes.

“You’d be surprised, Doc. I might not be as monstrous as I look.”

She smiled, leaning against the counter.

“I never called you a monster, Pietro.”

Now that she knew his name, she was going to call him by it. He seemed to flinch at the sound of it, as though it was something he wasn’t used to hearing.

“Compared to you and your friend–”

“Hannibal Lecter is _not_ my friend. He’s my patient and my colleague. Nothing more.”

She knew Villatoro listened in to her sessions with Hannibal. Since the moment the giant had seen the man, it was instant dislike. Bedelia didn’t want to think it jealousy but whatever the case, Villatoro seemed to distrust Hannibal more than she did.

“You said he helped you after you were attacked by a patient, right?”

Bedelia nodded, forcing the memory of the incident away.

“I can’t help but wonder,” Villatoro said, crossing his arms over his chest, “how Pretty Boy would define ‘help’. I’ve seen nearly every shade of crazy and that skinny motherfucker is _something.”_

She raised an eyebrow. Of _course_ , Villatoro had worked as an orderly at least twice.

“You think Hannibal is insane?” she inquired.

“I’m gonna be honest, Beautiful, I don’t think there’s a word for what he is. 'Dangerous’ but that’s putting it lightly.”

Bedelia nodded in agreement. Hannibal was indeed dangerous, but she was careful to indicate she was of no threat to him. That did little to quell her unease. Her past with him was more than enough. She sighed heavily and looked up at Villatoro. She realized now that he was not just her bodyguard but, she supposed, her lover.

“What do you say we go out for dinner tonight?” she asked, desperate to change the conversation. “What was that pizza place Barney mentioned?”

“Please tell me you’re not gonna eat it with a knife and fork like last time,” Villatoro said.

“You ate an entire basket of hot wings by yourself.”

“That’s normal. Eating pizza with a knife and fork is not normal!”

She shook her head. She was still trying to teach him how to eat like proper gentleman instead of a convicted felon. He had to be reassured that the waiter was merely refilling their drinks and was _not_ trying to steal his food. There was a lot of work to do with the man. Compared to Hannibal, it was almost fun. Villatoro, in turn, strove to get her to relax a bit more. She’d gotten better at playing pool and, during a recent weather-related blackout, had managed to beat him twice at poker. He claimed it was just beginner’s luck but Bedelia knew better.

He’d let her win.


	12. Chapter 12

Part XII: Information

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

Visitors were few and far between. The only person who dropped by these days was Barney. The sessions with Hannibal had ended months ago. But the last person she’d suspect to pay a visit was Freddie Lounds.

“Dr. Du Maurier–” Lounds began.

“I don’t speak to the press,” Bedelia said, making to shut the front door. Lounds stepped up, preventing the door from shutting, blocking it with her arm.

“I came to warn you,” the fiery-haired woman continued. “As someone who dealt with him, you need to know that Pietro Villatoro isn’t the man he claims to be.”

Bedelia opened the door more and Freddie stepped back.

“What are you talking about?”

Lounds reached into her bag, pulling out a file and handed it to her. Bedelia flipped through it. An entire dossier on Villatoro.

“How did you come by this information?”

Lounds gave a small shrug.

“With Dr. Chilton out of commission I was free to dig through his files.”

The blonde shot the redheaded woman a contemptuous look.

“You would _brazenly_ betray your lover’s trust in an attempt to slander _mine_?”

“Consider it a warning. One survivor to another."

Bedelia thumbed through the notes. One especially caught her eye. Something about a government funded lab on Alcatraz, phobia experiments and death row inmates used as human lab rats.

_Andover._

She knew that name. Man had been a brilliant psychiatrist at one point only to descend into unethical and morally questionable practices.

Lounds had taken her leave and Bedelia read through the file, waiting for Villatoro to return from his errands. He owed her an explanation.

A few glasses of wine later, she heard his truck pull into the driveway. She stood in the kitchen, wine glass in hand, and waited. Villatoro walked in, setting groceries on the counter and moved in to kiss her when she slapped him, hard across the face.

“You lying bastard,” she snarled. She couldn’t bring herself to raise her voice. It wasn’t anger, not even hurt. Disbelief, perhaps.

“That…was kinda arousing, do it again,” Villatoro muttered, putting a hand to his stinging cheek. Bedelia ignored his request, shoving the file into his chest.

“Alcatraz? Death row inmate?” Du Maurier went on, crossing her arms. “Is that true?”

Villatoro sighed, seeming smaller somehow.

“Yes, it’s true. How do you think I got the burns?”

She set her jaw, looking away from him.

“So you weren’t a boy when it happened?”

“Not exactly. I did lose my family in a house fire when I was a kid. Became a ward of the state after that. Delinquent, juvie, the whole nine yards. But the burns…that was in Alcatraz. There were a handful of us. Only one other guy besides me survived.”

“Why lie about it?” she asked. Villatoro let out a bitter chuckle.

“Had I been upfront about it, you would have thought me fucking insane. Dr. Chilton never bothered to even read my file, he hired me based on the fact I could snap someone’s neck if I had to.”

She was unsure of what to make of the information. Trust was a difficult concept for her and for some odd reason, she trusted the man. If he was going to kill her, he would have done already.

“I believe you, Pietro. But I think I’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”


	13. Chapter 13

Part XIII: Pillow Talk

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)

“Can you believe this is the first time we _actually_ made it to the bed?”

Bedelia wasn’t a physically affectionate person. She was known as cold, aloof and preferred to keep it that way. Despite that, she was exhausted and snuggled against her lover’s scarred chest. It just felt _right._

“You sure this is the first time?” Villatoro asked, half asleep himself. “Coulda sworn we made it before.”

She shook her head, forcing herself to sit up.

“No, that was the wall _next_ to the bed.”

She made to get up but stopped as Villatoro grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back down.

“Hey now, I’m not done with you yet,” he said, moving on top of her. She smiled up at him, pushing her hair from her face.

“I didn’t say I was done either,” she replied. “After all that, I just needed to get my bearings.”

He chuckled, burying his nose in her hair.

“Either that or think up more ways to order me around in bed, huh?”

“Am I truly that demanding?” she inquired, moving so he was forced to back away a bit. She took notice at the claw marks along Villatoro’s back and shoulders, not realizing that she’d done so. At least the bite marks on his neck blended in with the scars. She herself would have bruises in the morning…

“Not the first time I’ve basically been paid for sex,” Villatoro said. “Supply and demand. And you, Princess, are _very_ demanding.”

Bedelia raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that a complaint?”

Villatoro shook his and and laughed.

“God no,” he said. “This is one of my better gigs by far. Just…never had anything last this long.”

Bedelia wasn’t sure what they were anymore. The employer-employee relationship had long since been shattered from the first time they’d been intimate. She usually kept her emotions in check, despite Villatoro knowing just how to make her squirm and beg when he wanted to. She had yet to make him pay for that.

“I’ve never been one for other people,” she said, snuggling against him again. “You’re enough for me.”

Villatoro stared for a moment, looking rather confused.

“Figured you’d have kicked me out of bed by now if I wasn’t,” he said, flashing that teasing smirk of his. Still, there was a look in his eyes that seemed startled.

Bedelia purred against him, eventually falling asleep. She was unsure how the future would play out, but at present, it didn’t matter.


	14. Chapter 14

Part XIV: Moving Forward

Fandom: NBC Hannibal/Fear Clinic (webseries)  
  
  
  
“How…long have—have you been wearing that?” Villatoro inquired, his expression a mix of surprise and apprehension.

Bedelia tapped the side of her wine glass thoughtfully, making sure the simple gold band on her finger clinked against it audibly.  
  
“Four days,” she replied, fighting the smile that was starting to emerge at the corners of her mouth. “You should know better than to hide things in your coat pocket, darling.”  
  
Villatoro had been foolish enough to wrap her coat around her shoulders during a night at the opera. Given their difference in size, the coat was more like a pocketed cloak for her and she had felt something heavy in one of the pockets. She was surprised to see her lover had replaced his flask with a ring box that night and she’d slipped on the ring before he returned from the lobby. It was merely a matter of waiting to see how long it would take her lover to notice.

“So…if you’re wearing it, does that mean…?”

  
The giant brute was seemingly at a loss for words. It was almost cute.

“Does that mean _what_ , Pietro?” Du Maurier purred, savoring a sip of wine.  
  
“It means…I need a drink…where’d you put my bourbon?”  
  
“Neither of us truly have friends,” Bedelia continued, setting down her now empty glass, “so we needn’t plan anything extravagant. Simple courthouse ceremony is enough, don’t you think?”  
  
“Where’s the _fucking_ bourbon? I just bought it!”

“I suppose Barney could be your best man. You know he’d declare himself such regardless of you telling him otherwise.”

Villatoro stopped in his rummaging through the liquor cabinet and looked at her in exasperation.

“Bea, you gotta stop talking before I give up and bend you over the sofa again,” he said.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Don’t start that again. Remember what happened _last time_ you said that? You broke the dining room table.”

They were still nursing bruises from that incident. Bedelia had made sure the new table was reinforced but they had yet to test it. Perhaps if she pushed his buttons enough…

“How could I break the table if I was on top?”

“Babe, do not—do not test me right now.”

She smiled, pleased to leave her lover flustered. It was rare he was caught off guard. He was usually the one who instigated things, started the teasing flirts, while she called the shots in their lovemaking. If anything happened tonight, he’d certainly deny her the control she thrived on and she both loved and hated him for it.

While the thought of being taken on the dining room table was a tempting one, she might as well focus on the tasks she had been researching in her spare time.

With Hannibal now in prison, (though she knew him well enough to know that no place could hold him long), it was time to consider an escape plan. Italy seemed a promising destination. No one would know who they were. They already had luggage packed and ready to run the instant Lecter caught up to them.

It was simply at matter of time. 


End file.
